


A Nature Born to Sin

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alpha!Madeleine, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Deception, Dirty Talk, Filthy Story is Filthy, Forced Pregnancy, Lactation Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Madeleine Era, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Omega!Javert, Pregnancy Kink, Public Display of Affection, Stockholm Syndrome, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert was never told that he was a breeder. For viriles like Valjean, it's blatantly obvious. But for this virile in particular, he smells Javert's scent and finds himself fantasizing about a pregnant Javert. Soon, despite all of his restraint, his efforts to redeem his soul would be in vain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

That damnable Javert! How arrogant, to assume the existence he did, at the expense of his own poor mayor! And without a word of shame or apology. Not only did he refuse to be charitable, nor logical, nor considerate, nor appropriately introspective of his actions...but he absolutely refused to hide the scent of a fertile breeding man, carelessly allowing it to waft beneath that uniform to the nostrils of his superior. As well as his long-term target. Though Valjean was both men, and thus divided in self, he was whole and virile in this body as a begetter, with the birthright to subjugate and breed his desired objective. And thus he was tormented by his objective's complete lack of awareness to this birthright.

Of all the objectives to pick, Javert had to be the worst. Madeleine was perfectly content to sidestep the overzealot and administer to the needs of the town that God had commanded him to serve. And he did so, and all was as well as it could be for four peaceful months. But then, just after four months into their mutual service, he smelled it. So tantalizingly sweet, almost perfect, needing just a touch of opposing musk and heat for an ideal aroma. Such was the design, to need the stench of rutting for completion. From Javert, from _Javert the Tool of a Guard_ , came that groin-stirring stench of a man seeking a mate, a man to breed and bear young, to...to become ripe with children. Javert's rump emitting such a smell would prelude dependence on a master as his pregnant belly _swells_ , as his hips _widen_ , as his buttocks _fatten_ and as for his chest...sweet, nurturing milk to flood from within and overrun past those soon-to-be _soft_ and _heaving_ breasts.

And his master would protect him as the child was born, and as another would be begotten because...because for example, for the eldest child to have a sibling, followed by another for a greater family in the same idea, and another for posterity, and of course another for the...sheer appeal of his mate's gravid body...and so on, a-and so on, and still further more! until their bodies could absolutely not continue creating life. Such would be the fate of a breeding Javert, and the same for all breeding men with unrestrained viriles. Madeleine and Valjean both endured these flashing images without any warning, necessitating that he reassure the townsfolk and Fauchelevent that the cart had only made him weary.

All this out of nowhere. With no justification or exposition on the part of the man approaching his heat.

What was Inspector Javert to do when he finally went into it? The entire town would be in uproar: a middle-aged man suddenly falling to his knees, panting from fear and lust, unfastening his trousers, and baring his rump a-a-and his wet, dripping wet ring to beckon a virile's prick to him. He could already see men (and a few women, to be fair) tearing each other apart to claim and devour this crown of breeders: the hard-nosed Inspector, the snarling angel to punish criminals without a second thought, the most conservative soul among any group's number, revealed to be a slave to lust that would rival the most depraved buggerers of the Old World. A Moment of Truth, confined to the act of stretching his sweet-smelling burrow to plow deeply and momentously into his field, mercilessly battering the plow's knot against the soil until it was accepted, and finally seed being planted all at once in a manically joyful ejaculation.

And thus Inspector Javert would have no choice from then on but to be fucked at will and then waddle year after year as a permanent broodmare. Even at his age. That was plainly not what the man intended for himself...yet Valjean had to jerk and steady his tumescence at the devilish whisper of: “But it most dearly should be. And it most certainly could be!”

Regardless of a mayor's personal evil, or that of a supposedly redeemed thief, Javert knew better. All men born to breed: they were taught to mask their horribly enticing signal. Other viriles, even the most decent and kind among them, must have felt their pulses quicken at similar impulses (even similar fantasies...) upon being forced to sniff Javert's bottom. All of his ilk were taught to hide it, for that very reason! Unless...Javert were born into extenuation? Madeleine and everyone else obviously noticed his Gypsy heritage: namely that delicious, caramel-brown skin that would burgeon upon the children within him growing and quickening and growing yet more. Ah! It never ended, this obsession.

But still, Valjean never noticed any smells of mating in his...in his time in that prison. The system deliberately separated the viriles from the breeders to prevent any “accidents” and to best ensure order in France's Hellmouth. For that to be the case, how then...it could only be that Javert insisted on working with the viriles to bolster his reputation. And thus he would have been compelled to take appropriate herbs, yes, that was it!

And now, now in Montreuil, Javert either had no access to them – upon reflection, not true, so that wasn't it at all – or...or he had no idea what they were. It was no secret that isolated people of that lineage were vulnerable to disadvantage in this country, especially in education. And Javert, like his mayor, was a notorious and absolute loner.

Valjean had a doubly horrible revelation, for literally two reasons. Viriles had a talent for keeping unruly breeders in check for their own purposes, should anything like that come to light. Trickery, misleading, taking extra steps to ensure ignorance...Javert had the wool pulled over his eyes for years upon years. Javert was not stupid, so impregnation could not be part of the possibilities, but ignorance was undeniably plausible. And now, probably thinking this was just a consequence of someone of his heritage getting on in years, Javert merely disregarded his courtship stench and simultaneous libido spike as irrelevant _nuisances_ to his position as a police spy.

The reasons. For one, the practice of deceiving those who would and probably will bear children is disgusting and abominable. For the other, Valjean was already planning one of those deceits, faster than his morals could abort it.


	2. Chapter 2

“A voyeur, Monsieur le Maire?”

“Indeed, Inspector. I saw him sulking around my house from the bathroom window. He looked back at me and smiled, while I was bathing. He seemed a fearful sort, and I, ah, I don't want his deviant behavior to continue.”

Javert was already steeling himself for a stakeout of supreme importance and valor. To think, a chance to lock up a pervert with the nerve to spy on a magistrate. Unthinkable, repulsive! Absolutely outrageous! It was exactly the kind of case he wanted for assuring Madeleine, for assuring anyone who might doubt him, that he was completely devoted to the consequences of law. The peculiar state of mind he cultivated and reserved for the hunt for evil was gently and firmly setting into place...that is, until he heard Madeleine hesitate in the third sentence.

“When you say 'fearful', Monsieur, could you elaborate?”

The mayor's eyes widened. Oh, heavens, this man must have been absolutely demonic for the mere memory of him to make the muscular Madeleine anxious. And Madeleine was very...exquisitely muscled, cords of power folding alongside each other as a testament to self-discipline and a hint of ferocity. A ferocity that must be held back, waiting to reveal itself...P-Perhaps he simply did not want to bloody his hands, which is understandable for a magistrate. Yes. Perfectly so.

That smell again. Why was he smelling that wretched perfume from behind him when his thoughts strayed?

“A-Ah, pardon me, I wasn't prepared to imagine him so thoroughly.”

To think this point in his career would have him encountering his mother's perfume. She always wore it for pleasing her customers. Every single time, and they all loved it, how disgusting. It just made him feel hot and dizzy. Perhaps his patrols around the prostitutes had sullied his coat. Or some prankster had drenched it in the stuff while he was asleep. But that would have to wait. He tried not to inhale too deeply as he spoke.

“Yes, I understand. If you could please explain for me?”

“Ah...how would I describe him? He was built not unlike myself, truth be told. Very muscular, bearded, dark eyes, a depraved expression, probably a virile.”

Viriles...nothing but trouble, those that he found. Undisciplined violators of flesh, wantonly impregnating vulnerable men and women whenever some urge gripped them. He was glad he and the guards at Toulon were not of either group. Yes, they were fine men, patiently teaching him everything he needed to know. In particular, how to recognize Virility and Fertility at a glance. And it was so beautifully simple: viriles were stupid in their overly sexual attitudes, and breeders always submissively dropped their drawers upon the invitation. Thankfully, his time in the company of his mother's business shielded him from either impulse, regardless that he would never have them to that magnitude.

Had Madeleine's jacket shrunk upon washing? That was unfortunate.

“Every now and then, I find men like him to eye me out of jealousy, but never lust. So he must be insane to the point of wanting to rut with anything that would offer itself. In any case, I would like you to watch for him when he comes around again.”

“Certainly. When do you think he will come around again?”

Suddenly, Madeleine sniffed the air. Oh, no, now the poor mayor was victim to the phantom perfume. And he was coughing at it! Perhaps Javert needed to finally cave and invest in a new coat.

“Pardon, Monsieur. I suspect my coat was drenched in perfume by some delinquent. His day will come, undoubtedly.”

“...Yes, I was, hmm, wondering that very thing. It's of no concern. Anyway, I suspect he will come around in two days. In the evening. That's when I bathe, you see.”

“Understood. I will dispatch onlookers around your home for the appointed time.”

“Ah!”

“Monsieur?”

Madeleine had been acting antsy all through his meeting he had arranged. Just what could be the matter, besides this damnable voyeur? Perhaps his jacket was far too tight? Perhaps his skin needed to breathe...

“...Javert, you know the two gendarmes that walk at the very back of your patrol unit? The tall ones?”

“Beaumont and Jossart? What of them?”

“I had an idea, you see. I would like just those two to onlook. This man looked powerful enough to kill with simple motions, and I think they are the most capable to defend themselves. I would like as little bloodshed as possible.”

“Truly? Just those two.”

Madeleine gave Javert a level gaze. Shame instantly flooded through him: the mayor's judgment in crime was erudite. Economics and clothing size, not so much. But justice must be served with discretion.

“Just those two.”

Javert bowed, preparing to take his leave. Perhaps he could finally get away from that damn, bewildering scent.

“Very well, Monsieur le Maire. See you on Friday evening at, I would say 6:00?”

“5:00.”

“5:00 it is, then. Adieu.”

“Adieu, Inspector...”


	3. Chapter 3

Jean Valjean sat and sloshed around in the waters of his sin. Hot and frothing in the soap, soothing and debilitating, thrilling and horrifying, hellacious and disturbingly agreeable. He half hoped his plan would fail as it came to fruition, that the Bishop would cut his soul from stem to stern in the name of justice. But all that seemed to failing now...was his inhibition. He was naked in a bath with the Inspector in the same room, decadently inhaling that Fertility and emitting musk of his own, with two viriles as witness to this crime in process. Those poor fellows, having to linger at the back of the patrol to keep from mounting their chief of police! God love them, for they were holier than he.

They needed to know. Not to arrest him...but to let all viriles of Montreuil know who would own Javert from this day forward. This was something they all understood well, and so they would understand not to press charges. Perhaps one day, this Tool of a Breeder would understand as well.

Javert was respectfully looking away from him and toward the window, looking for a voyeur in the wrong place. Too little, too late. The true voyeur was getting drunk on the smell of his rump; his strictly hidden rump that was destined to become two globular, swaying fruits of flesh...that would part to reveal a cock-squeezing birth canal. One that would be used incessantly.

Yes, he could no longer deny it. This was not seduction, nor mere trickery. This was rape. Eagerly planned assassination of his virginity, ignorance, and career. Madeleine wanted to start a family with Javert, even if that meant taking him against his will. It seemed even the Bishop wasn't enough to erase 19 years of depraved sexual thoughts upon the turquoise-garbed guards. To have Javert whimpering and pleading him to stop—only then to plead him for more and more—

The Devil fills any gaps in one's holy endeavors.

“Javert...” He shuddered at the sound of his own voice, trembling and low. “I think the man would see your uniform from that far away. I would rather not risk his escape. Please disrobe.”

“Very well. I think my undergarments should be vague enough of a sight--”

“No. I said no risks. You will disrobe _completely.”_

“P-Pardon, Monsieur?”

He was committed. He was condemned.

“You will obey.”

Javert grew silent. Jean noticed how his breathing was getting faster, but he continued to scrub his biceps, making sure that Javert could see them.

“...Yes, Monsieur.”

May God in Heaven free him from the Devil's grasp one day. One day...far, far away from now.

Javert gingerly undid his jacket buttons. The jacket was discarded in the corner. The pants were unfastened. They fell to his ankles, and then were cast toward the jacket. Then he stopped. Javert's hands were shaking.

“We are both respectable adults here,” lied Madeleine in a slight growl. “Remove your underwear, and stop fussing.”

Javert obeyed.

That damnable man...standing there, without a shred of cloth to cover himself, on the word of his own rich mayor. Vulnerable. Submitting to power. Surprisingly attractive in his own right: sharp features, bright eyes, proud jaw, signs of stubble, averagely endowed (although he produced no sperm), and decently proportioned. From the angle, that bottom could be seen as well. Nicely fat, and smelling even more strongly than ever.

If Javert truly didn't know what it was, then he probably attributed the stench to the soap. 'Spilled on his jacket'? He must have desperately wanted to avoid admitting the truth to himself. B-But just thinking of all this devilry, little lies like that would no longer matter...

Such a thin man, noted Jean. That caramel skin spread over some toned muscle and very little fat. But he did note the man's waist: it was...even before the atrocity had been committed, Javert's hips were conveniently wide. And his skin was well-nourished, not taut from hunger or fasting. That same skin would expand easily. And Jean continued, marking each part of this delicious man, already dreaming of improvements that would come on the road to paternity. To false marriage. To crushing a heart of wood into mulch, for more fertile soil. For sons and daughters of lust and domination, Jean had already scribed a calendar in his mind for the progress of a growing, eating, barefoot policeman at the service of the man with the birthright Virility.

He could smell it. Both of them were wet. The time to act was now, so he calmed himself down for a short while, before his cock betrayed him and wasted his seed.

“I believe he is coming. Turn around. He should not see your face...”


	4. Chapter 4

He was sick. Some terribly hot, cloying, sexualized sickness had been creeping upon him for days now. So that was why...staring at the mayor's clothes, watching his lips move, even looking down at his crotch—at his crotch, his endowment—it was all the fault of some airborne illness from the prostitutes. Perhaps that was why he kept smelling that perfume; it was...great skies, it was coming from _him._ From his backside, of all places. Now he knew why more depraved persons didn't frequent the docks: it was too dangerous. Why did no one tell him about this? But for Javert, it was already far too late. This sickness had traveled to his brain and was starting to overwhelm.

Monsieur Madeleine looked incredible when sopping wet. Every hair on his body clinging to that pale skin...showing off every curve those muscles made to less ideal men. Some fellows could be gorgeous without even trying.

Taking off his clothes felt like a good idea for more than one reason. If his mayor commanded it, and if this illness were not to destroy him, then he had to obey. Obedience was the correct mode of action here somehow. Something in Madeleine's tone of voice held power that he hadn't heard before. True authority. The spirit of leadership: that was why he became mayor, that spirit. And this illness was making him so hot...Javert had every reason to take off his clothes.

And so he stood there. Covering his meager endowment, certainly looking like he was about to take a bath, and having the masterful Madeleine looking upon him. Appraising him. He would fail in comparison, but this was fine. It was inevitable. Javert could only hope to service the mayor, by way of upholding the law. There was nothing else he could do for him. He was nothing more than a sweaty servant, as it should be.

Therefore, he obeyed without complaint when he was told to face the other way.

The walls he faced was pleasant to the eye: painted a pale green, obtaining a sheen from the Spring evening sunlight. Green was a good color for a room like this. Something about it admittedly made one feel at ease. As if they could trust their instincts all the more fully.

Javert heard sloshing from the tub. Madeleine was obviously adjusting his position to spot the criminal now. When he was found, it would be fine to turn and see the man for himself. Oh, how divine it would be to finally get his hands on—

“MMPH!”

Though he protested, he had no response. What had just happened made no sense. He could only yell into the large, wet hand covering his mouth and struggle against the impossibly strong other gripping his left hip. He couldn't wrench himself from them. He was trapped.

“Bend over.”

That voice...it could only be—but it couldn't be—unless—the way he lifted that cart—why was he doing this?!

_Does it even matter? He told you to bend over._

Javert rebelled against his heat-swaddled mind, but Valjean held him steady. This had already been decided. Planned. Exacted for one purpose and one purpose only: subjugation.

But why him?

“Javert. Feel my hand. Let it guide you.”

Valjean pressed the hand that was on his hip against the small of his back, pushing his torso toward the ground. Soon, he was facing the tiled floor. Then the brute pushed straight down, making him bend his knees. And Javert was letting him do this. He had to grab his ankles for some semblance of support.

That smell...Valjean didn't smell like soap anymore. Not as much as he would. What was happening? Virility only belonged to lazy criminals, so how...?

Virility.

Virility?!

As if to answer his fears, two fingers suddenly parted his cheeks. So warm, those fingers! Yes, part him, make him bare his channel for a nice— _this was madness._ It was wet...that wasn't just his odd suspicions, his backside was leaking some sweet-smelling fluid. The same his mother used for her clients...

“Javert, I could never ask your forgiveness,” intoned Valjean, sounding surprisingly gentle. “But I must demand your compliance. I...I need you. I need you to accept what is going to happen. If you don't...then this will be that much worse for you.”

The hand left his mouth.

“...Jean Valjean,” he accused.

“Inspector Javert,” returned the man flatly. “From this moment forward, you will obey me in all matters. You already are.”

How? How had he let this come to pass? How did he let all of those people, for _years upon years,_ let him think that he was just odd from being a Gypsy boy? Those concoctions they make him drink, telling him they were for optimal concentration. Was he that willing to ignore the truth?

He was a breeder.

This man wanted him to breed.

As if to confirm his horror, two fingers suddenly violated his ring.

“MMMMPH!”

“Yes...you will enjoy this!” Valjean's voice was growling, rumbling, somewhere between man and wolf. “As you should. This is who you are. Denying yourself this privilege for so long, no wonder you're so stern and joyless. I can change that. I will realize your true purpose.”

What purpose?! To be _pregnant?!_

“I could never—!” As soon as his voice of rebellion registered, it instantly broke and cracked. “Please, stop this, don't ruin me like this!”

The fingers jammed into him. So much...his ass was not supposed to take that much into him. His ring was choking around just two fingers, closing around them like silk-wrapped stone. Javert always thought breeding men had bottoms that eagerly accepted pricks. M-Maybe that meant this was all a ruse! Just violation, not mating! B-But then the fingers started spreading his flesh outward, a-a-a-and Dear God in Heaven, it felt so queerly right. Why did it feel right?!

“Ruin, Javert?” Oh gracious, that tone, it made him shiver. That anger...mixed with desire, it was as terrifying as it was exquisite. “You seem content to me. No, you must be thinking of a prisoner in a House of Correction. _Those_ fellows are ruined. Daily. Remorselessly. This is just who you are!”

 _Not so different,_ Javert's thoughts barely managed to rebut. _You are thoroughly remorseless here. God, those fingers...!_

“Aaaaah...!”

“Good...” crooned that sweet voice of Valjean's. “Feel it. Feel what I'm giving you. Then you'll love what I'm _about_ to give you.”

“J-Just stop!”

A third finger brushed the ring. Its fellows retreated to the entrance to greet it, all of them pushing against his pink flesh! Pushing, pushing, spreading, gracious, wet, so wet, over and over, please stop. It hurt, it hurt, it was far too tight for their purposes. How was Valjean planning on breeding him when Javert was so tight?! What was he thinking? This would pulverize him! And yet some insane part of him was thrilled at the idea.

The three fingers had overpowered the ring's tautness. Now they were all burrowing within him, starting to lower his guard and stretch him further. So hot...all this heat, for something so profane.

“Almost there...”, soothed Valjean. “You've been good. I'm proud of you, Javert. You're so close...just relax. Relax around my fingers. This will all become easier...my dear mate.”

Why did he have to sound so sweet? A convict, a lying virile, a fraud, and he was trying to comfort his victim. This was disgustingly twisted. But that voice still cut deep within him, and this heat sweltering beneath his skin swelled at the words and the sound!

“Mmmmmph...”

He did not. Javert did not just whimper—!

“Oh God...Javert, I can't. I'm sorry. I need to have you _now._ ”

The fingers swiftly withdrew from him. Javert instantly seized up at the terror of what had to be coming next. No, no, please no. He wasn't meant for this. He was meant for justice, to cull the wicked, not to have some convict stick his _cock inside him, someone s-s-stop this, DEAR GOD, IT'S ENORMOUS!_


	5. Chapter 5

Jean was delirious. His entire body was trembling, wrapped in glorious heat. And Javert, foolish and callous Javert, so wet and meek and opening for his cock, it was so beautiful...the Devil had given him a grand treasure in this exchange. So hot...! So tight...! Tight, wet, writhing around him, making the man whimper in pleasure, oooooh yes, this and what came after was for what he bargained!

“Give up, Javert,” spoke the Devil. “You've no escape from me. You'll be well and thoroughly fucked before the sun goes down.” Jean went even deeper inside him! Those feminine wails, they gave him chills! “Listen to you; you love it. You're in heat. Just admit it. I want you to feel good, Javert. Both of us. Admit that you want my cock.”

“Mmmmngh!”

Jean had no qualms about harshly smacking Javert's buttocks. So taut, and surprisingly round. To think such a sad-eyed man would be so enrapturing just from looking at his backside, l-let alone _sinking one's prick inside him, this was actually happening, Jean was fucking him. Just a step away from impregnating him._

Jean was hilt deep. _Say it, Javert._ He was not allowed to pretend that he didn't.

“Javert. Admit it.”

“...I...”

Jean smacked him again. To think, these buttocks would be spreading near Christmas Day to allow a baby into the world...his baby. He started pulling out, and then pushing back to the hilt. This was where it all started. Just with simple, decadent, strokes.

“...I, God help me, I love this feeling. I-I love your prick, V-Valjean—! I l-love it!”

“Of course you do. You're just a slutty breeder in heat. You were bound to love my cock.”

Jean increased his pace. God and Devil, this was why sex was so feared. It destroyed men in a matter of seconds. Like silk-wrapped stone, choking his flesh that was made to make children, Javert started to stretch and tighten around him. Moans were filling the room, from both of them. He could already feel his knot swelling in preparation. They were well past the point of no return.

“And you'll keep loving it. I'll fuck you, over and over, day after day, Javert. And then you'll understand. You'll be full and pregnant by your brutish thief, and by your dear mayor. No matter what you think of me, you'll be pregnant before dinnertime!!”

What delicious fever was consuming his brain! He rubbed a hand over the policeman's belly, close to being far from empty. So much he wanted to say, he started saying it with dark mirth.

“I smelled you after I saved that man. God, you stupid man. Drenched your coat in perfume, as if! As if, you tool! I smelled this pussy of yours. Begging for seed, begging to get pregnant.”

“N-No...!”

“You were letting the entire town know that you wanted me to fuck you and knock you up, and you didn't even know it.”

“V-Valjean, stop it! I'm...!”

“You're ignorant. That's what you are. This is the right of a virile. The moment you let me smell your Fertility, you let me know how you wanted to be a family man. And you will be.” Valjean's voice rumbled with unrestrained power. “You'll start eating more, when the time comes. I'll feed you, feed you and my child. Or my _children!_ I suspect you'll have twins, or more! You'll grow, Javert, you'll fatten and swell with our get, and you'll love it. Your belly will be enormous. That uniform would tear if you tried to put it on. And you'll get bigger still.”

Javert was completely silent.

“You'll get nice and fat as a breeding man. Your destiny, Inspector. You'll give birth, and you'll be gigantic then. Your ass will jiggle, your hips will put a woman's to shame, and this chest of yours—” Valjean rubbed circles over his right nipple. “You'll have fine, plump tits for suckling our babes. Or me! Breast milk can be unpredictable, and you'll need me to help control it. And you know what, Javert?”

Javert sobbed. Jean finally jammed the knot inside the man!

“You'll do it again. I'll knock you up again, as soon as you're able. You'll do it all again, get huge again, give birth again...all while nursing our firstborn. And then I'll make a baby in you once more. And another after that. And another. So on. So forth. Year. After. Year. I'll keep you deliciously full with our children...from this day forward, my dear Javert. My slutty incubator. So you can kiss your patrols goodbye.”

“P-Please...”

Jean kissed his neck.

“I'll take care of you,” he assured the cock-squeezing man. “My wealth will increase. We'll have dozens of children, and they'll have attendants, as well as you and me. We'll be parents to our precious children. You can do paperwork, if you like. Write programs for training cadets. But the law will be reforged in the name of love...the same love in which you'll be awash.” Jean surprised himself with how warm and dear these thoughts were becoming...not a consolation, but a promise. He reached his head around to properly kiss Javert. “You'll be in my bed with me to hold you, and your belly will always be full. With food, with warmth, and with child.”

Javert tearfully kissed him.

“ _Why?_ ”

Jean stroked his stomach as he finally stopped holding back his climax.

“ _Because this is our nature, mon cher._ ”

He had completely forgotten about the witnesses as his prick spasmed and shot his seed deep into his mate. Javert spasmed and clenched around him, moaning like a bear. He had done it. Javert would be giving him progeny in nine months, and from then on. Javert would learn to love it.

And the father would love every minute of it.


	6. Chapter 6

Beaumont and Jossart observed the mayor and inspector, now bonded for life. Finally, they could keep the streets safe without worrying about anyone (or themselves, if they were honest) attacking him. They left the mayor's house to let the knotting diminish in due time, catching just a glimpse of the mayor starting to pump into Javert again. And that was that. Jean Valjean remained as Madeleine. Javert, however, had become a very specific type of prisoner.

The lie was much more comfortable now, since it was forcibly respected by his new lover. Valjean sighed in deep relaxation as the revelation settled into his brain. The factory was safe. The townspeople had their mayor even after the truth was revealed. The children could hope for the future with one less obstacle in their way; because Javert had become so much more than an obstacle, in the space of five too-short minutes in the bathroom. But not to worry! The rite of subjugation had many repetitions performed in the following weeks, and yet more to come. His mate was still tighter than a newly wound clock!

Javert, for his part, was unfocused in his anxiety about the life ahead of him. Jean told him about the witnesses to the event, so Javert could only oust Madeleine if he was prepared to speak against their testimony about getting fucked and seeded by him. His reputation was on the line, and he was inherently compelled to never lie, at least not for his own sake. Javert had inadvertently created his own trap by virtue of his own nature...a theme that seemed determined to haunt him from that day forward.

He rebelled against not doing work, initially. He was still able-bodied, and Valjean was one criminal among many: justice could still be done by his hand! Valjean could complain all he wanted, but that was one thing he could never take from a dedicated lawman. He went on patrol the next day, trying to purge the thought of not being able to arrest the criminal that now slept beside him, as well as the thought of him blushing as the same man palmed his stomach and chest. Not to mention how he started to anticipate the stretched and full feeling from this criminal's cock and knot every night.

Jean was “sympathetic” to him, but he had to admit how “delicious” it all was. Idiot. An idiot and a felon, but Javert's new bond to him made it difficult for Javert to stay angry for very long. Or Valjean, for that matter, whenever they argued. When things became heated, they always resolved their disputes the same way...albeit perhaps in different positions.

For the first two months, Javert was miserable. Broken morality and vomiting his meals did not mix well at all. Every other morning, he found himself heaving over a foul-smelling bedpan with his “mate” stroking his back and saying gentle words. Why did it always sound so sweet and warm? Why was he always hovering around him when they were...home...now? And why did it feel so right? He was raped by the man! Impregnated! He was arguably still being raped, night after night, never mind how much he started saying he wanted it...and how much he really did want it. Two months of morning sickness and getting addicted to Valjean's musky cock. Ideal.

Jean, for his part, was trying to make Javert as comfortable as possible. Fine clothes, good food, a shoulder for support, a patient ear, a considerate voice, a fat cock; all were at his mate's disposal. Logic and sheer nature commanded this. But this would take time, and he knew that all too well. He knew that from the moment he smelled the man's encroaching heat. Javert had to accept his own nature.

Three months into growing this blasted child, he felt continually famished. It was disgraceful to indulge in gluttony, yet Valjean always had more than enough food for him. Well-balanced meals, great in quantity, decadent in choice. Javert tried to ignore Beaumont and Jossart murmuring to their colleagues whenever he would stop in the patrol in front of the mayor's house and then come out munching on a leaf of lettuce or a slice of beef. Or one time, a carrot dipped in almond butter. People were already talking about him and the mayor: the “great conquest”, how degrading...but at least Valjean agreed with equal vehemence that such talk needed to end. Although his words were “They need to accept what has happened and stop gossiping.” At least the police stopped mentioning anything, and his crusades against justice went without any unusual hitch. Except...except the “mayor” now had to approve all arrests.

Jean did talk with Beaumont and Jossart about their murmuring. They reached an understanding, and the conversation ended with “Congratulations.” He couldn't stop from beaming at that.

Whenever an arrest was denied, Javert used to start ranting and raving when they came home, but this was interrupted as Valjean undid his trousers and suggested “a pacifier might calm you down, my pregnant fellow.” As much as he hated himself for it, he found himself kneeling to suckle on the fine sausage hovering in front of him. He had memorized every vein, every shade of pink and peach and red and white, every hair, and every inch of flesh on the phallus and orbs from servicing them _at least_ twice a week. The cream was the kind of bitterness he had known in food for most of his life, as well. The arrest matter was always dropped. As if Javert could have dissuaded the fool anyway.

Jean would look down at Javert sucking his prick, looking up at him. So defeated, yet so eager. And each time, those eyes were a little sweeter...Jean was falling in love. Beyond any nature, Javert was becoming a fine mate, little by little. And his belly was getting softer...what unmitigated joy, his mate was growing a child for him! Or more!

The new criminal arrest process became highly tiresome. Not just from the red tape, but from the walking. Javert was becoming winded much more easily: moving around even slowly made him lean forward with his center of gravity starting to fall between his chest and his waist. It was ridiculous, having to learn to walk all over again! And more to the point, he was just _heavier_ from the growing child. He would send his inferiors ahead of him as he panted and wheezed. Four months into the madness, he would lean his rump against some building wall and let his hands travel to his back and stomach. The humiliating sight of it: he looked like an expectant mother! And the inevitable realization always made him reel.

And of course, his stomach had developed a noticeable bulge, even from under the coat...which Jean nuzzled and rubbed like a lucky charm. Then again, Jean also nuzzled and rubbed his ass, which was starting to burst out of his uniform trousers, God, it was all coming true...his ass was wider now, with his hips expanding away from his torso. They were....they were allowing a child to pass through his pus—backside, allowing him to give birth in five months or so. He couldn't even comfort himself with snuff: Valjean forbade it, and it started making him nauseated besides. His only consolation for getting bigger and wider was food and...and Valjean.

Javert was very, very hungry. Javert was very, very tired. And on top of it all, he was getting fat.

He was sitting in front of plates of food more often than not. Shoving it all in his face, whenever he saw it and approved of it, munching it down. He couldn't even think about police work in those times. Before, he went to the station, as tired as he was, and did the best he could. Then, he relented and surrendered his patrols to Jossart, who would have made a fine replacement—he should not be thinking like that—as he did paperwork. And then, at five months gravid, at not being able to fit into his jacket or even see his swollen feet anymore, he arranged to have the work delivered to the mayor's home. To _his_ home...where he would fill it out between meals. Well, if not meals, then...

Valjean was winning. And Javert impotently made a point of this during dinner one August evening. That damned handsome man just smiled sweetly and handed him another plate of sweet fruit. Javert cursed himself as he took it and started biting down on the apple slices first.

“This is beautiful, mon cher,” Valjean answered and continued rubbing oil into his fleshy cannonball of a belly. He had to take off his shirt when eating now: nothing fit him that well besides a nightshirt, and this bond of heat did not help matters. “You need not worry about things anymore. I am taking care of you, you see?” Javert felt a kiss on his exposed bellybutton, which always made his face flush with blood, it was too affectionate. At least he didn't do that in public. Jean came back up to face him with lips slick from the oil. They shined in the setting sun...red and stretched in that charming smile. “We work for our objectives. You're working to get big and swollen with our children. And you're doing much better than I expected!” Jean kissed him, and Javert returned it. At least when they were caressing tongues, he didn't have to think about anything. Even the intermingling scents that permeated the house were welcome when Jean kissed him.

When they parted: “About that...children? Surely it's just a very large one moving around in there...”

As Javert said that, he felt feet and hands shoving his innards.

“Ah! Ooof...” Jean grinned at his discomfort. Of course he did. It was the same for when his nipples started becoming unreasonably tender: “Perhaps I can relieve the tension, my dear?” The answer was no, as it turned out, and so he apologized promptly. However, Jean insisted that they try again every week to see if it had changed. Impossible man. But to be fair, he was probably misled for these quickenings after one of the brats kicked his prostate and...well, that night was memorable for many reasons. Javert kept eating.

What a mess. But now that he thought about it...there were a pregnant wife and a pregnant breeding man not too far apart from each other in one case he reviewed. They were due to give birth on the same week, and...he was already bigger than they were when his inferiors took their statements.

“I've counted the limbs, Javert,” murmured Jean in that lust-drenched voice he had perfected. “There are two sets of hands and feet in here. You're having twins. Ah, five months, and you're enormous! It makes me tremble, I can't cope with it; you're so hugely pregnant already. Our firstborns will be big and strong, no doubt. Ah! We should start thinking of names, mon amour.”

Jean would never stop calling him that; it was almost his second name. And Javert doubted he wanted the man to stop calling him that. It sounded so genuine. As if it weren't bad enough that he had gotten used to Jean rubbing and licking his stomach. Insanely enough. And besides...sometimes, those fluttering limbs were softer than usual, making him wonder what their children would look like when they were born. Even taking into account how painful and obscene the birth would be.

He half suspected Valjean was fucking him into the mattress so often—or the couch, or the living room floor, or the backdoor garden, or in the tub—mostly to loosen him in preparation. And sure enough, his expanding backside had learned to welcome Valjean's cock without a second's hesitation. Javert had the sight of Valjean standing over him (or lying on top of him), humping and grimacing in pleasure burned into his mind. The only difference now was that Javert was starting to have to lift his head and look over his own sweat-slick belly to see his face. And for some reason...the fact that he had to do that was becoming somewhat thrilling. Being pregnant, being full of life, feeling it weigh him down. Even by Jean Valjean. It, ah, it wasn't all that bad, not really.

He could do without the sore nipples, though.

Jean did recognize the side benefit of pillaging the man's canal, but he would be doing it even if it made no difference. Sliding into Javert and palming that belly as their children moved inside him was a grand reward in and of itself.

Javert swallowed.

“Two children...” He kept himself from derailing too far. “Well, the house is big enough.”

Jean pushed him back into the bed and cupped his face as he kissed all over his head.

“We'll have many more than two, Javert.” Jean thumped his tight stomach from behind him, and Javert felt the man's muscular rump against his useless endowment. “Mark my words!”

“...Get off me and let me eat, you ninny.” The response was automatic.

Jean started laughing soundlessly, burying his face into Javert's shoulder as he shook from the idea of all this—and Javert—God, it was delicious. What a beautiful man, learning to enjoy life as a swollen breeder. This was a reward after all that torment in Toulon. He had committed a grave sin, and now he was responsible for keeping his victim sated. And he was eternally happy to do so.

“Jean, I'm serious. Get up.”

He hurriedly obeyed his mate.

Javert sat himself up and finished the fruit, moving on to the buttered bread, mercifully unstolen and not tied to any delinquency. It tasted good. Good texture, strong flavor, hints of herbs. Jean seemed to be humming a tune to their unborn children as he continued applying the oil. Very well, very well. If he were to be subjugated to this life of pregnancy and constant fucking, he might as well enjoy the food.


	7. Chapter 7

Javert struggled with his new uniform. Pull them together, pull the buttons together, _give it all you've got._ That damn Valjean had deliberately gotten a size that would prove far too small as his belly grew even larger, didn't he? But it couldn't be helped. No matter how much the cloth strained, the mayor was right: he had been gone from the public eye far too long and needed to make an appearance as Inspector Javert. Pregnant or not.

Jean watched him struggle. What a _pity,_ that Javert would never let him help out of pride! He had to watch the man struggle to slip his nearly full-term pregnant, caramel stomach into a pair of beige trousers, just below the bellybutton as Javert could not get them any higher. Frankly, he was amazed at how those plump, girthful, _trembling_ buttocks allowed the conveniently snug cloth past and above their curves. And the jacket only barely reached down enough to cover that jutting hill of gestational flesh, let alone that pliable, milk-filled bosom that was developing! Poor man, it was _so hard to watch._ In a complete coincidence, Valjean found that his own pants were feeling snug in that moment.

With a mighty effort, Javert finally secured the last button on his jacket and loosely fastened his pants. He knew a tight fastening would end in tragedy, so he surrendered before the battle even began. There. For what it was, it was done. Javert assessed himself in the mirror. He looked decent enough; that is, until he moved to the side. God in Heaven, he might as well have swallowed a five year old child. A ravenous, wriggling five year old. Speaking of which...those loud little brats running outside their house were really getting on their nerves. Perhaps they needed to be taught a lesson!

“Javert? You look hungry. Would you like to eat before we go?”

“No need. I have something in mind for when we head back here...”

“Javert.” Jean walked up to him and patted his enormous middle. “I keep telling you, you don't have to be tough for me.”

Javert looked at the hand pressing into him, seemingly dedicated to touching him every other minute of the day, and sighed. He was learning to long for that hand.

“...I would, but this uniform is tight enough as it is.”

“My poor dear!” Jean kissed his cheek and stepped away, but not before predictably rubbing his ass a few times. “I'll get you something when we return, I promise.”

If nothing else, Jean would be true to his word. Javert knew that. Where were those boots? Today he would finally man-up and get his aching feet into them. No kind-voiced thief or mayor would stop him, no matter how good his food or cock smelled. Javert realized what he thought to himself and stifled a sob. The only consolation he had was this:

“I'm just pleased that I will not, erm, leak until these two are born,” said Javert, gingerly cupping his chest from on top of the jacket. “And that makes sense! It's for them and only for them.”

“Yes...indeed.” Jean sounded miserable. Too bad for him. Ah, there the bastards were.

Meanwhile, Jean had been thinking. Javert's breasts had developed quite a bit faster than they were supposed to do so. One had to wonder...exactly what herbs did the guards at Toulon give to him? Certainly ones that quelled his heats and hid his scent, but Jean was wondering if, dare he think it, _fertility_ herbs were among the mix. Fertility herbs, for fourteen-plus years. That being the case...

But that was wishful thinking.

Javert slid his feet into the boots. The discomfort was tolerable. Now for the bicorn...? Right, still in the closet, you pregnant dolt. For months. The only good reason for it to stay there was that Javert had no reason to wear it indoors. This was the shape of things now. Jean-the-Cock Valjean had ruined him, in return for being ruined himself.

Wait, what?

Javert looked at himself with the bicorn on his head. And then he realized: “decent”, even from the front, undercut the changes he had undergone. His face was so much fuller. His arms were bigger, from both fat and muscle. Certainly his legs were thicker. No wonder that even a new uniform was a struggle! His chest was, eugh, starting to impress itself from behind the blue jacket. The man in front of him was so swollen and bloated and uncomfortable-looking that an on-duty gendarme would feel _sorry_ for him. He took off the bicorn in a fit of self-disgust.

It was then that he finally realized it. Javert looked...he looked like a breeding man. A very well-fed, lazy, docile, constantly fucking (so not _that_ lazy, that muscle had to come from somewhere), cock-hungry breeding man. Due in two weeks.

Javert was buried under all of this flesh. And when put in that context, it felt...hard to him to care, for some reason.

Javert saw Madel—Valjean lift a dark, woolen coat over him, and so he lifted his arms to snake them through the armholes. It was pleasantly warm, even better than the old one he had. Jean stood beside him when they were done and kissed his cheek.

“Ready to go?”

Javert looked himself over one last time. His inferiors would not care if he came to the station without his hat. Not with how long he had been gone.

“Yes, let's go.”

Jean smiled and took his hand. Javert found himself gripping it, wanting to feel his mate's hand. Why...why his mate? Why the father of two children, in _his_ belly? And without consequence...a perfect crime. His other hand found its way to the small of his back, until Jean offered his left hand as a substitute. Javert accepted it.

They announced to their new housekeeper, soon to be nursemaid, that they were leaving now. She nodded and continued cleaning. Both of them exited the house and greeted Montreuil-sur-Mer on a frigid November mid-morning. At least the sun was unobscured. Javert instantly felt eyes gravitating to him, and then to his stomach. He felt the need to keep his now-free left hand on said stomach, thinking it would clear the air that yes, he was not in denial about his condition. Whether they actually thought that, Javert couldn't say. After all, everybody seemed oddly...happy to see him. As if some great burden had been lifted.

If, and it was still very much an if, Javert ever needed a replacement, it would have to be someone who could crack the whip on attitudes like that. Jossart was capable of that, although he was soft-hearted.

“Good morning, messieurs!”

“And to you!”, answered Madeleine cheerfully. Javert politely quirked his lips.

“Oh, it's good to see you're well, Inspector!”

Javert let go of Jean's hand and waved. Oddly enough, Jean didn't try to reclaim it.

“Monsieur le Maire, congratulations!”

“Thank you very much!”, responded Madeleine as he patted Javert's middle in front of everyone. Oh, this would be fun. Well, if that was going to be a trend, at least...Javert narrowed his eyes at the virile.

“E-Er, and to you, Javert.”

He raised his eyebrows as a warning for next time.

“You're glowing, Javert!”

“...I see no fireflies on my person,” he responded. The woman laughed, and so did Madeleine. As he rubbed his stomach in front of her. He was loving this, the damned pervert. Parading him around like a prize cow. Showing off that he had plunged his cock into Javert, gotten him in the family way, and wasn't afraid to let everyone know to whom Javert...belonged...

Dammit.

“Holy hell, yer enormous, man! How many you got in there?”

“You should be at work, Prouvaire,” snapped Javert. Madeleine, for his part, did glare at the fool. He was a good mate. I-If nothing else. Possessive, but good.

“That uniform can't be comfortable! Let me get you some proper clothes!”

“...There's no need, monsieur.” Javert heard the implication of that refutation and shuddered. Jean kissed his cheek in front of him. And then he patted his other cheeks. No one seemed to think anything of it. This was normal for a mated pair.

“Would you like something to eat, messieurs?”

“No thank you, madame,” answered Madeleine for both of them.

“When is the blessed event?”

“In two weeks or so,” answered Javert. Madeleine almost answered for him, but he felt that playing silent would be pointlessly putting on airs. He was very, very pregnant, and everyone knew it. Jean was starting to get the stupidest grin at hearing him say that, what a ninny. While keeping a hand on his belly, like a pirate guarding a treasure chest full of precious gems. But the hand itself was only part possessive, the other part rubbing his tight skin through the coat.

All the comments they received thereafter were variations of the previous. Most of them seemed to be thinly veiled references to how rotund Javert had become, or how his jacket was betraying his chest, or how ill-fitting the uniform was overall. At least the coat was keeping most of the ruder types from commenting, that and Madeleine's proximity. He had to admit, along with all the other things he was having to admit, that he was really starting to appreciate having Jean close to him. Respectable on the surface, not tolerating poor manners, big, strong, intimidating, etc. The sort of fellow an expectant man would want next to him, Javert supposed.

Jean was just happy that all the other viriles were reminded that Javert was off-limits.

And then they came to Laffitte, the treasurer of Valjean's funds.

“Good morning to both of you!”, greeted the portly man. “I was wondering when I would see both of you at the same time. I'm sorry I didn't address the consequences of your mating, Javert.”

“Consequences?”, puzzled Javert. Then he realized instantly. This mind of his, weighed down by his globe of a stomach, it was amazing he could think at all sometimes. As if to justify himself, he rubbed it absent-mindedly. “You mean about joint property, then?”

“That's just it,” confirmed Laffitte, palming his own middle. “Ooof! Pardon me, this one's got no mind for business!” Madeleine chucked, and Javert merely responded with: “Ah.” Javert thought he smelled a full breeder. At least he knew what that dull musk was now.

“In any case, I wanted to make it clear that you may withdraw from Madeleine's funds whenever our hours permit. But anything over 1000 francs needs his written permission or physical presence in the treasury. It's fastidious, but those are the rules.”

“I have no issue following rules,” retorted Javert. Madeleine made a wry smile.

“Hah, good man. Well, if you have any questions, just let me know.”

“M. Laffitte, are you sure you're good to walk around?”, asked Madeleine. “Last I heard, you're overdue.”

“Not to worry, not to worry,” answered the man glibly. “I've done this before, and I know how much strain I can take. I just hope you, my friend in breeding, know your limits as well.”

“I am well to _walk,_ thank you very much.” What nerve!

Laffitte instantly looked apologetic, to his credit: “No, no, I meant for when you're due. It's all very sensitive even now, but once you're reached the day, it could be _anything._ One ounce of energy more than usual, and those false contractions will become very real.”

Javert blanched. He was hoping those were just cramps. Jean, meanwhile, was hurriedly reassuring himself that Javert would not keep him from knowing when he actually went into labor.

“Just be careful,” warned Laffitte. “My poor beloved had to coach me through giving light to our daughter _on the road._ It was beyond awful! And bless her heart, she was screaming at the coachman to stop before she tore off his limbs.”

“Understandable,” growled Madeleine. Javert rolled his eyes.

“I am sure this one would raid a small village if it would keep me safe,” quipped Javert. Madeleine nodded with surprisingly little humor. “But it won't be necessary. I've kept myself hale for years, and this is just another challenge.”

“I like your attitude,” responded Laffitte. “Just make sure your mind doesn't fail it, sluggish as it is. You know what I mean.”

Javert sighed.

“Very well. I should get back to the—OH! My word, I'm sorry, Inspector.”

“T-That's alright. You got mixed around, didn't you?”

“Yes, I knew you understood. Well, have a good day, messieurs.”

“And you...” Madeleine heard himself say from far away.

“Jean?”

The scene was replaying in his mind. Laffitte, in his breeding-born stupor, failed to back up from Javert. And so when he turned to the right, their middles collided in a dull thud. Jean watched every fraction of a second that composed the moment, every brush of fabric against fabric. Two full-term pregnant men touching stomachs, albeit accidentally. Jean started blinking, wondering if the marketplace around him were a figment of his imagination. Surely that was the only explanation. That was a dream. This was all a dream. Dear Javert's voice was just a dream, but he responded to it nonetheless.

“I-I think we should head to the station now, mon amour. You want to reassert your position.”

“...Yes. Let's go.”

Madeleine wished he could cross his legs while walking.

Javert was not stupid. Jean was obsessed with Javert's pregnant body, and so that collision was probably putting him in the throes of perverse ecstasy. Whatever. It wasn't going to happen again, and certainly not on purpose. It was odd, though: his chest started to ache after that accident. What a queer body he was lugging around now...he closed the coat completely around him as a stiff breeze hit the ill-fitting uniform. But before they got to the station proper:

“Ah, the mayor and his wife! Let's introduce ourselves!”

What? Who were these people? They were wearing Parisian fashion, but they seemed far too... _chipper_ for Parisians. He looked to Madeleine, who was equally confused. And _what did they say?!_

“Bonjour, messieurs! Pardon our nerve, but we must do this now. I am the Sieur Aguillon, and this is my beloved of the same name. We're intending to buy real estate here as newlyweds!”

“And this city is just splendid, Monsieur le Maire!”, added Mme. Aguillon. “You really live up to your name. We'd heard how far this place had come. Especially in the past eight months! I've never seen a financial district with so many smiling people!”

Both Javert and Madeleine staggered. But the latter was quick to recover.

“I see. Madame et Monsieur, welcome to Montreuil-sur-Mer,” greeted the mayor with a smile as well as a cautious tone. “Is there something you need in particular?”

“Oh, not especially!” Javert didn't think a grin could show that many teeth. “We'll not bother you with our affairs. But we wanted to formally acquaint ourselves with you and your mate. Congratulations, by the way! I'm sure your children will be blessed to have such good people as parents.”

“...Thank you,” murmured Javert. Jean looked to him blushing and smiled gently, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Oh, but darling, we must meet the Inspector as well. Such a frightful man should know that we won't cause trouble. Lord knows the terror he inflicted in Paris. What was his name again?”

Paris it was, then. He had never seen these people in his life. He doubted they could steal a crumb without getting caught. He also doubted they would ever _need_ to steal _anything._

Wait. Need to steal? Jean had been talking of charity too much around him. Theft was never a necessity. Although...it wasn't like Jean ever said it was, either. Damn this addled brain of his!

“As always, my heart, you are beyond reproach!” They smooched. They did not kiss, Javert determined. They _smooched._ “Ah, I reckon you and him look similar, monsieur. Oh, what is his name? This will irk me all day now! But in any case, you seem so much kinder than he! Certainly you look happier, even without a smile. It's so nice to see happy breeders after the misery of our corner of Paris. I suspect we'll be good fellows to each other, Monsieur...actually, did you take his name?”

“...N-No. I wouldn't do that.” He had never considered it. This was all happening without his consent. Pregnancy, living with a convict, eating like a pig, baby names, and now _marriage?_ He had enough to juggle in his mind without this oddly charming man paying him compliments.

“I understand,” commented Mme. Aguillon. “The only reason I took my darling's name was because I was tired of my own. German, you see, horrible syllables.” Javert had to wonder what the problem would be with a German name. German conquest, sure. Names? Who cared? “Still, I'm sure you're well-admired even without the tradition. You look as if you were made to bear. That is, if you don't mind my saying so!”

“And you will look splendid with our firstborn, Beatrice!”

“Oh, enough! We'll draw a crowd with talk like that, mon cher!”

_You look as if you were made to bear..._

His chest felt wet.

“Javert? Are you well?”

“...I am fine, Jean.” He held a hand to his right breast. The fabric was moist, and it had the scent of milk.

“'Javert', then?”, continued M. Aguillon. “Interesting choice for a first name. In fact, I don't believe I've ever heard it. What is your surname, good man?”

“N-No, monsieur, 'Javert' is actually his—”

“Ah...!”

Upon being asked that question, something collapsed within Javert. He had resisted his victimization for so long, and he knew it was rightly so. However, upon walking through the town, upon talking with this couple, some warm buzzing had started to coddle his mind. Perhaps that was what made it harder to think. But the reason why that was, Lord help him, Javert finally understood. Jean was beside him, taking care of him, being so loving and kind. He had a husband in all but name. And as insane as it seemed to him...he was happy to be a husband in return. Or even a wife.

And he found himself happy at the idea of being a parent, because of all this warmth buzzing around him, buzzing at the touch of Jean's hands and his smile and those piercing eyes and so much powerful rutting. So he smelled his chest leaking prematurely, and he realized it was a consequence of his body being supremely fertile. Supremely prepared for bearing and nursing children, even at his age. He really was, in all senses of the phrase, made to bear. And it was all thanks to one man.

“Mon cher?”

“Pardon me. I was feeling them kick.”

He cupped his firstborns inside his belly and answered.

“My surname is Valjean.”

Jean watched Javert say this and knew for a fact he was dreaming.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! But, you know, things. Things happen. Chapter 8!
> 
> Also, can I just say how hilarious I find it that half the dialogue about this filthy smut fest is about my writing skill? You guys are ridiculous! XD But I'm glad my style of presentation is worthy of note all the same :D Even if it is "distinct"...(if you know who I am, please respect the anon code!)
> 
> I edited the last bit; I wasn't that happy with it. I think the emotion is better communicated now. Please enjoy.

Upon arriving home, Javert instantly made to waddle back to their bedroom. Jean greeted Fantine and hurried after him. What the man had said...! What terrifying bliss swelled in his chest! They didn't even go to the station: Javert wanted to head straight home. And if that meant what he thought it meant...!

“Papa, why is Inspector walking so fast?”

Valjean looked down at little Euphrasie, who was thankfully looking a lot healthier than when she came here. It was a fair condition for indefinite servitude as a nursemaid: lodge her, feed her, and bring her child to Montreuil. And so Madeleine and Javert went to inspect the inn, took one look at her living conditions, and had the rathole condemned. The children of the innkeepers needed new lodgings as well, so Valjean paid handsomely for a lovely young couple to look after them. Spoiled though they were. But they weren't visiting Cosette today, and that was good, because Jean needed to address his..."husband", if that little slip wasn't just a surge of false humor or the like...without little girls milling around his shoes. Surely Javert appreciated that as well.

“H-He's just happy to be home. Go find your mother now.”

“But she's right there!”

_“Then let her find you, I need to go, ma petite.”_

Jean opened the door to the bedroom and shut it behind him, making sure Cosette wouldn't sneak inside the room. Again. He listened for her footsteps to travel away from the door, all the while looking at his life-burdened captive.

Javert had stripped his jacket and God and Devil in a tiny canoe, Javert's chest was wet. He had leaked milk. It was so soon, yet Javert was already giving sustenance for their young.

“I suppose you got your wish, mon voleur,” said Javert. But he did not sound upset. In fact, he said...! Jean walked to stand in front of him, checking his face for any sign of delirium.

“What you just called me... what you said back there, Javert, I—”

Javert kissed him. _Javert_ kissed _him._ Over eight months, and that had never happened! Oh, it was even sweeter when his mate was the one offering! Jean was the delirious one as he caressed his lover's mouth, tasting every bit of flesh that met his tongue and lips. His hands usually wandered Javert's form all over when they kissed, but today they were occupied with his softening chest, having proven the man to be of superior fertility.

They parted far too soon, and then: “I was thinking of saying the first for a while. As for the second, it's...” Javert ran his fingers tentatively over the band of scar tissue on his right shoulder. Such a hurried mark of breeding, Jean couldn't even remember at what point in that first time he had left it there. “I was a joke, really. Or something. Don't take it seriously; hell, we can forget about it right now, it doesn't matter! Haha...I don't know what came over me, really...I guess I just needed to. Erm. Stop pretending, so to speak.”

Jean kissed him once more, kneading the soft flesh below the man's proud chin. This was no longer evil. Though this was born in evil, it was nursed and raised in love. Javert was his hasty victim, and Javert was his overdue redemption. The next words he spoke were the truest ones his lips had ever allowed.

“You are mine, Javert.” He undid the fastening on the overstrained trousers. “I'm thrilled you're coming to see that.”

Javert didn't say anything in response, but Jean instead got a nip on the chin. The trousers refused to slide down the man's increasingly curved and sweaty form, and so he gently tugged them below Javert's abdomen and bottom to fall to the floor. Javert then made to undo his underwear in quiet understanding of what Jean had now demanded of him. Words failed him, every time Javert stood bare in front of him. He saw his sired ones twitch from inside their forebearer, as if in approval of no longer being bound by tight clothes. Jean heartily lauded their sentiment.

“...You skipped going to the station. What's that supposed to mean?” He knew what it should have meant, and so he tugged on the fool's exposed endowment and orbs. Just enough to please him, and more than enough to make his point.

“ _Ah!”_ His eyes were dilating and growing dark. As a result, so were Jean's. “I-I didn't mean to imply anything...I simply was tired from walking.” As impressive as Javert's baritone was, the way his voice wavered and broke seemed deliberate in its similarity to a grisette pleading to a wealthy client. Yet the sale had already been made in the spring. “I'll go there later today, not that it matters for you. E-Even if I fully re-assumed my duties, you would still be ravaging me. _”_

“Correct,” said the virile, releasing his hostage from his grip in favor of the form of bondage they knew very well now.

“You're obsessed...”

“As you would know very well, my dear.”

Jean moved to lift his mate into his arms and nip his neck. His left hand was holding that meaty rump and getting covered in the wetness dripping from Javert, of all people. He looked into those dark, expectant eyes from Javert, of all people. It still amazed him. Jean didn't need any excuses for himself anymore to just pick him up and lay him wherever to start pillaging him. Nor did he have to soothe Javert. No talk, no hesitance, just thrusting into the former guard as roughly as he liked. The birthright was becoming respected, with each month that Javert spent pregnant. All of this was coming together, as decreed by God and the Devil united.

Jean licked the right breast, finally tasting the first trail of milk for their children to soon greet the world. Javert's breath hitched at his tongue. Difficult to describe, yet definitely sweet. How perfectly fitting!

“By the time I am done, you will not be able to walk _anywhere_ , Inspector,” assured Jean.

* * *

 

Javert's heart pounded furiously as Jean swiftly picked him up and all but tossed him onto the bed. He staggered as his wet, burdened body hit the plunging mattress. It was usually so expectant, so casual in how the man routinely took possession of him. But right now, with those teeth bared and ready to bite into him, those eyes frighteningly wide with intensity, and starting to pant as if he had been trying not to before; Jean had turned into a brute. _How perfectly fitting..._ thought Javert. But his attitude was not condescending. The still-unnamed twins squirmed inside him, echoing his anticipation.

Jean yanked his legs apart, locked them around Jean's waist, and fell over him to more devour than kiss him. Kisses did not have his lover squeezing his tongue or dragging canines along his lips or leaving no chance for escape. Nor did they uncoil and accelerate a whirlpool of lust between his body and this horrible thief, threatening to pull him under and bury him in pressure. Heat spiked all the higher in his blood as his only response, seeping into his muscles to take control, and so he desperately reached out to undo his master's cravat and jacket. Damn that knotted cloth, damn those slippery buttons keeping Javert from this muscular beast's hulking form! So heavy, both of them so heavy now, against each other, how could the bed hold all the weight? That pale, supple skin, he needed to feel the skin of the man about to claim and fill him once again, and he had become so good at it...! Jean made no effort to stop him this time, insisting on devouring him from the inside out. Until he absolutely had to lift his arms, letting the damp cloth slip across his bulk.

Javert brusquely threw the mayor's clothes to the side of the bed somewhere, finally, he could reach the flesh! Jean nibbled at his neck, sinking his teeth in him, his fangs, distracting him from this!! Pecs filled his greedy fingers, he could feel the strength they bore, enough to l-lift a cart, oh God, that sight elated him to such a horrible depth. Jean, the Cric, the Cock, the Creature of Consummation. All three of them grabbed his chest and squeezed it, both of them, gotten so soft and malleable as they grew. He licked the right, lapping at it, wanting a reward like a dog. He wanted to feed. Javert could feed him.

Javert remembered what Jean did for him and mirrored it: he pressed his head into the swollen areola.

“Mmmmph!” But from where the moan came, Javert quickly lost track.

Jean understood and sucked at his aching teat with rounded lips, with soft and hungry lips. All around the nipple, taking all of the turgid flesh with tight-shut eyes, he found it so thrilling! His ruined chest, Jean loved it this much! Sucking on it, pulling him into a hot and wet chamber with a rudely demanding tongue, desperate for Javert to demonstrate fertility once more. To let him drink it as if it were nectar from the gods. Hands smacked his overlarge rump, egging him on, groping him to make it happen faster. But it happened when it happened! Javert couldn't even tell him this, he could only whimper pathetically for him to grab him more roughly.

Jean gripped and lightly tugged the left, hoping it would be more forgiving. But as he did so, that horrible pressure, Javert tried to ignore it, but it was finding a release! It was being pulled into his mate's mouth, suddenly and with so much relief, and Jean _groaned,_ so much richer and deeper than any groan before it, he started sucking on him like a babe. Javert would have laughed, such a ridiculous sight. But such a wonderful rush...! Such a wonderful...man...

Absurd.

Jean pulled off him, why, don't do that! He was shifting off his trousers. Javert forgave him, seeing that beautiful prick again, somehow even more elongated and thickened, flooding and pumping blood i-i-in even more lust than Jean had before! He was possessed _, rav_ ing _, demonic._ So wonderfully demonic! Those eyes wanted to eat him. Javert was sure they would, his own wide and dark along with his shivering form, belly writhing from his anxious progeny, do it, do it _now._ Jean leaned in to devour him again.

Seige.

* * *

 

It pierced him like an enemy blade. Seeking to harm and bleed, but finding only a soft tomb to just barely close around it. But it tried so valiantly to win the fight, pulling out hysterically only to fall back into the vacuum. So clumsy was the effort that the hilt of the blade became stuck between the King's lips. It kept trying, Jean kept trying to batter the King Javert into submission, pounding his rear, engorging it with his fat blade. This became its new strategy: to pulverize the King's soft canal until he surrendered.

The victim's lazy body had no defense against the invader, having long since been proven pregnable. It could only dance to try and appease him, fattened flesh swaying and sinking into the royal bed. The warrior liked the dance, gripping King Javert to clap his flesh in hearty applause. But the claps were from a victorious barbarian, and thus they became welt-raising swats upon his bottom that had spread languidly, to his debauched pleasure. The new King accepted tribute from Javert's stomach that had been fed so gluttonously, kissing the engorged skin, sloppily, deliriously. His bosom also offered itself, which the ravenous plunderer took along with even more of its sweet wine. Every part of him, whatever part the invader wished to sample or steal or strike with his hands, all of him was open for conquest. Javert was Royalty degraded.

Pounding, pounding, _piercing_ , _battering, so deep, so huge,_ it hurt, it would render him useless. A useless King for a mighty usurper. What point was there to even continue living, with his kingdom sacked beyond humiliation? What else was there to do, except allow the tyrant's blade to continue gutting him? Violating him so intimately, so manically, without remorse. Such a ruthless new King...but one whom suddenly slowed his pace? His face softened. His eyes lost their frightening glare, altogether becoming...compassionate. No. _Affectionate._ And now the new King offered, of all baffling gestures, a kiss to the degraded royal. A gentle, soothing, queerly passionate kiss.

“ _I. Love. You._ ”

...Unbelievable.

Unprecedented.

The new King wished for the defeated Javert to stay. It was all true...this whole time, it was all true.

After almost nine months of resistance, he had fallen. His castle had been destroyed. His soldiers made to quit out of despair. A bloody conquest that made him submit to the Brute Valjean's one term: family. To love him. To swaddle him in fine cloth as a man would a wife. To make him supplicant as he ate for two rulers to live better than they ever did. To lose care that he would be bloated and round and heavy and gargantuan, even to learn to like it. To like him...to forgive him, because only conquest would have made him accept this rich reward. To grow, in more than just one sense. Over and over, for the man who loved him. For their descendants, whom he found he loved before they even came to be.

Javert kissed his beautiful king.

“I love you, too.”

The warrior faltered.

“ _Javert...!”_

“ _I love you, Jean Valjean._ ”

“... **Oh Sweet Lo--!!!** ”

Javert saw the stars appear on the ceiling. His husband and master was tearful at the sight, tenderly kissing him in gratitude for a peaceful surrender at long last. Javert wept at the end of the war, at being safe in Jean's arms. Jean's prick would not leave his passage yet, the clumsy thing. But this was how their children came to be. And how the others would as well. They held each other and caressed with arms and tongues, occasionally stopping to marvel at their energetic get, and became lax at their newfound joy. And with Christmas only weeks away.

Long Live the King.

And his Prince.

And their Future.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got back to this! But I should warn you guys: I wanted to try and fill some of the prompt flooding on the kink meme at least a little, so this chapter was written in that spirit. It's a labor scene with sex as a painkiller. If that's not your preference, then feel free to skip and wait for the next chapter, I won't be offended.

“ _Valjean, at last, we see each other plain. Monsieur le Maire...YOU'LL WEAR A DIFFERENT CHAIN!”_

“A-Alright, fine, just keep breathing!”

“ _TO THE GALLEYS WITH YOU!”_

“In and out, Javert! In and out...in and out, yes, there you go, mon coeur. And stop trying to push, you're not ready yet.”

“ _I was not pushing!_ ”

“You have never told a lie before, Javert. Don't start n _—okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”_

Valjean was glad they decided for him to learn the ways of a midwife instead of hiring one to witness the “blessed event”. Otherwise, he was sure his identity would have been revealed several times over, in fastidious detail and gruesome illustration.

Only this morning did Javert complain that his “cramps” were worsening, and not an hour later Fantine and Cosette had to be ushered outside for their own sake. Javert had lungs that could bellow for ten men, at least when in the throes of labor. They knew what to do, they were not panicking (too much), but the volume of voice in the house was still formidable. They waited. Even as his contractions grew closer, they waited and pondered what faces would greet them by the coming of the night.

Now the sun had set, and Javert decided he did not want to sully the sheets on the bed. Jean hesitantly allowed him this demand, but in return suggested that some cushion be found. Javert could not think of one he was willing to ruin. With that option eliminated, a devilish thought intruded upon Jean from the frustration...but it was actually not a bad idea. Jean would be his cushion, skin against skin, and that would ensure his support in the labor. With the knowledge he garnered slowly over the months, he was able to confidently sit on the floor, naked, underneath his husband in all but name, to let Javert rest upon him when needed, and to soothe him whenever a contraction hit. It wasn't a perfect process, but it worked. For example, he learned that it was best to let Javert yell whatever he wanted to yell during one, unless he wanted Javert trying to choke him.

“...Sacrebleu, this is punishment for something, it has to be!”

Ah, that was the end of this one. Valjean took the towel next to them and gently wiped the sweat off Javert's face. And then his neck and his chest. Down to his stomach now...a week past the expected date of arrival, and so it was a sight to behold. A burgeoning mountain that had tilted toward the earth as their children were preparing to be born. When this happened, Valjean admitted only to himself that he missed the deliciously round shape of Javert's belly from before. But he would get to see it again next year, so it was nothing worth any grief. And it was still shamefully erotic to see Javert grunting and panting under that dome of a stomach. Struggling to birth their young...

“You are doing wonderfully, Javert. I can hardly believe this.” He spoke in a whisper, brought forth from both awe and restraint. What a magnificent sort his Javert had become. Dedicated to bearing the pain of birth for their children, no matter how intense, and still managing to enamor the father for both his body and soul. His heart pounded and his cock throbbed, pressing into his mate's lower back. Javert made no mention of it. Jean had spoken in complete truth.

“Jean...” That plaintive whimper of a call, how it throttled Jean. He was this man's servant. He was needed. “Jean, this hurts...I am beyond dignity, this hurts too much!”

Jean leaned his head down to kiss him. It was all he could think to do, apart from cheering the mother of his firstborns on to keep at it.

“You can do this, mon cher, I know you can.”

“You want me to do this again.” Javert stopped and went silent as Jean felt his hand being strangled. Jean held close to him. “...Prison must have rotten your brain to...make you think that was a sound idea.”

That actually wasn't an invalid supposition. Jean felt his body grow heavier under him, as if chains once again sought to siphon his energy. Even looking at the golden links for a gentleman's watch made him flinch at the sight and grow weary at the reflection.

But this pain was to create life. It was worthy pain. One he wished he could bear with Javert, or at least alleviate for him. But it wasn't so simple as how Jean got Javert to accept being pregnant, was...

Was it...

Hmm.

Jean looked over Javert as best he could. He couldn't see well enough without shifting under him, but Javert didn't seem to mind, thankfully. After angling himself to see past the man's mountainous and once-again sweaty abdomen, he saw Javert was soft. It wasn't ideal, but no ideal solution existed here. It became a substitute for the ideal, the next best thing, and in doing so earned an appeal that made the prelude to ejaculate seep from Jean's own endowment.

“I should check your progress now. Pardon me.”

Javert leaned back into him like the other times he checked, causing him to lie down flat upon the wooden floor, allowing Jean to reach down with his left hand and feel around the canal. His fingers found the stretching ring, straining pitiably for what had to happen. He extended his index finger and thumb from the top to the bottom. Not quite the size of a fishing lure, not yet. Javert had to wait yet more, the poor thing...

But it didn't have to be quite so miserable. For either of them!

“We have to wait, mon cher, I'm sorry.”

Javert inhaled deeply and tersely through clenched teeth.

Jean already knew what to do. Instead of bringing his hand back to his side, he brought it to pinch the flaccid cock of his mate, just below the head. That soft skin that felt far too good when rubbed, or licked, or sucked: Javert had inadvertently taught him well. He dragged two fingers across the skin with his thumb on the other side in opposition. Back and forth. Firmly to achieve the sensation, and slowly to make it last.

“W-What?! Jean, you're not seriously—!”

“Indeed I am.” Jean lifted his head just enough to nip at Javert's neck. He tasted the salt from the tears he had already shed from pain... “Let me help you.”

His other fingers joined the effort, rubbing from the head to the root. Back and forth. Forth and back. And then up and down as Javert started to respond. He felt the man start to seize up, and so he hastened to grip the whole shaft firmly, fingers squeezing it against the pad under his thumb...as that same thumb rubbed the undoubtedly darkening head.

“Mmmmngh...this is _just_...AH!... _make haste_ , you stupid oaf, stop wasting my time...! _Oh fuck, this one can't end soon enOUGH!”_

“Breathe...deeper, Javert, there's a good man. I will aid you.”

Javert relaxed a little more to settle on top of him more comfortably. Good, he still had the sense to obey for his own benefit. Now he would fulfill his promise in earnest for his poor husband. The breeding man was laboring to birth his children: the least a simple virile could do was offer him some pleasure.

“Shit......Shit, SHIT...! AAGH!”

Jean kept steady and stroked Javert as the pressure built, seeking his reward. Yes, let it fill his hand! Let it grow taut and thick, dark and tall! Let it make the man whimper as he arched his back, only to fall to the stomach of his master and become limp for his efforts. The contraction finally passed. The last bit of restraint to which Javert clung, now foregone as he only twitched his groin to press against Jean's hand. Javert was not straining to push anymore. Only the weary attempt to feel release all the sooner.

Sooner it should be, then sooner it will become.

Jean stopped for only a moment and made to lift Javert up from himself and shift him farther away from the door, just a touch farther up his chest...yes, right there, just below his neck. With his knot-wielding cock resting dangerously close to the burrow that started it all. There they were, red and erect, begging for his attention. He gripped Javert tightly as reassurance and an apology, earning a muffled hint of a whimper as he started to all but polish the bobbing prick. But Javert needed more...Jean needed so much more. Both of them were groaning from the need that must be met immediately.

He bent his neck down to that softened chest, quickly curling his lips to suck the flush areola and the caramel skin into his mouth once more. Ah, just feeling it on his tongue, tasting it, rolling it around, pressing it against his gums, squeezing the right just to feel its supple cushion on his palm, filling his _mouth_ with the left, this was _Javert_ that bore this handsomely plump breast, dripping Fertility all over his cullions, getting lazy and soft for Jean-the-Cock and the children he fucked into him, what a delicious contradiction...resolved by the clash of skin upon skin, leaving both of them victors for the kingdom that had finally arrived.

What a beautiful man he had become...

As Jean Valjean stretched out a hand to brush his mate's ponderous and rock-hard belly again: “ _You are absolutely insane...!_ ”

As Javert gasped at Jean's finger swirling around and upon his extruding bellybutton: “You have made me this way. And I would never regret it for a moment...!”

Now it was back and forth between technique. Jean glossed his fingers sluggishly over his mate's cock, making it sway in any direction, yes, tugging the shaft as his hand traveled up and around the head...then to grip it without any gasp of air between the two, grinding every inch of Javert's useless endowment purely to magnify those sounds above him. Moans were getting higher and shallower, only to return to pained moans, but blessedly less agonized: smoother, more familiar to their many nights of joining together carelessly. Ragged, quick breaths were now punctuated mumbled mentions of his name, from what Jean could hear while fixated on the man's chest, it sounded like his name...move to the right tit, you can hear him better there anyway. Yes, Javert was pleading to him with his name, even now! And he would plead all the louder, Jean would earn that fervor and desperation several times over.

Ah! No more, he could not ignore how painfully hard he had become, it dug into his husband's back and drooled over both of them. But no matter, that could wait. This was not about him, even though it vied to override his most basic thoughts and have him plunge into that sweet canal, no, he would have plenty of time...he had to concentrate. Javert was in another contraction again.

Jean felt Javert plateau in his cock's girth at last, not far from dearly sought release. Jean rubbed and stroked his stomach slowly and gently, yet in wide and greedy circles, while relentlessly rubbing and stroking his penis in a choke-hold, now tugging it toward their faces and pulling up, even though no seed would burst from the head. Jean made as if to summon every last imaginary drop to the tip, if only to give his dear Javert a moment of bliss that much sooner. They were so close...

“I...I, JEAN...I CAN'T...YOU...JEAN, MON CHER, I AM LOST...!”

Closer...

“ _I will...always...find you, mon époux._ ”

He was seizing up...but partly in the pleasure Jean gave him. He did it. Javert had comfort! The man was in torment to give him _children_ , and he offered this meager relief to such a wonderful, beautiful breeding man!

“I'M GOING...THIS HURTS, BUT I'M GONNA, I'M...JEAN!!”

Jean was lost for words as he pulled up his head to kiss him. He _had_ to kiss him. He had _no choice_ but to gently bite down on the mark he made so long ago. Nothing else came to him for what to do. Lost for all words...save for three that could never leave his mind when he saw him.

“I need you.”

Javert shut his eyes and went completely stiff. Jean distantly felt seed landing between the two of them, coating Javert's back and his own chest. Both of them laid flat on the floor of their bedroom again.

Once they caught their breath for that one painless moment, Jean sadly took his right hand off Javert's stomach and reached for the birth canal. Perhaps from what they did, perhaps independently, Jean could now stretch his fingers in roughly the shape of a fishing lure. Four inches or so.

Javert started breathing in short gasps again, grieving pitiably.

“We're ready, Javert. Anytime.”


End file.
